Halloween = The Day In Which I Become Ozzy Osbourne

It’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago I was sitting in my house in the dark, hiding from trick-or-treaters. Now, thanks to a curfew, all is quiet and I can actually see what I’m typing.

Maybe it’s just because when I was a kid my mother would always have to look through the candy my sisters and I brought home, discarding the ones with extra bad ingredients (actually not discarding, I think she would recycle it by giving the candy to kids at the door) or maybe it’s because nobody ever seems to get my costume (for instance, the year I wore an orange dress and a green sweater and hat and went out as a pumpkin, someone excitely exclaimed that they knew I was an Irish Step Dancer!?) but seriously, Halloween is lame-o.

That doesn’t actually stop me from making pumpkin and apple soup with curry and coconut milk or lemon cookies in Halloween shapes. It doesn’t actually stop me from staging a photo shoot involving a jewelled spider (sadly broken off from a hair clip, sniffle) nor does it stop me from wearing tights reminiscent of All Hallow’s Eve. It’s still lame.